A Bit Black
by SBs alive
Summary: After a several blows of bad fortune Sirius runs into some unexpected good luck. Kingsley, on the other hand, wishes he had never gotten out of bed today... PoA era, oneshot


Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one you recognise. I'm not making profit (with this, or with anything, really).

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**A Bit Black**

Sirius ran through a sparse forest that bordered large fields and pastures somewhere in the northern England. Breathing burned his lungs and his muscles were screaming for mercy, but he could not slow down. Sirius cursed himself once again for a thousand kinds of a fool. He had transformed from dog to human to be able to pull off a painful shard of wood that had pierced his back when he had been forced to leave in a hurry from a woodshed where he had sought cover from rain. It was just his luck that some country fool had seen him in his human form and that among all the country fools in England this one had to be married to a witch.

So now Sirius ran, stumbling over tree roots in his too slow and nigh helpless human form. After being seen he could not transform back into a dog before he could be certain there was no one around to see him, and by that time he had covered quite a bit of land and was crossing a ploughed field towards this pitiful excuse of a forest. He understood what a mistake he had made only when he was about to transform and he realised that he had left tracks wide enough for a blind man to follow. And that blind guy would have to be a complete moron if he would somehow fail to notice that Sirius' footprints changed from human's to dog's.

Sirius heard something over the hill, perhaps a mile away. A strange, steady, thumping noise Sirius knew he recognised from his life before Azkaban, but could not quite place. But towards the mystery noise was also towards harder soil, so that's where he was headed now, in his mind cursing himself, the man that had seen him, the yesterday's rain, the soft land and the world in general. He also prayed to whatever god who might be paying attention that every single Auror would be drunk or napping or whatever when they received the alarm.

Sirius made his way up the hill, his breath now but painful gasps. He slipped on wet leaves and fell as his left foot went through a rabbit hole. He hit his head on a rock and the world vanished in a bright, blinding flash. For a second he just lay on the forest floor. Then he shook his head a little, his mind clearing mercifully fast. Sirius scrambled back on his feet, and doggedly continued onwards, eternally grateful that he had not broken or sprained his ankle, or lost his consciousness. A warm trickle of blood ran from a throbbing gash on his forehead. Never slowing, he wiped blood from his eyes; effectively smearing it all over his face as he finally reached the top of the hill.

Sirius stopped dead.

People. The low valley that spread before him was full of people (muggles, by the looks of them), wandering around or gathered in front of a huge stage. Of course, Sirius realised suddenly, the strange noise he had recognised must have been bass. This had to be some sort of muggle music festival.

Swearing violently under his breath Sirius pulled up and over his face the hood of the cloak he had stolen perhaps a week ago. He knew it would only be a few minutes before this place would be swarming with Aurors, and that was his best case scenario. His bad luck seemed to be holding just fine, since Sirius knew he had little alternatives but to try and slip past the muggles unnoticed.

Sirius jogged down the hill in what he hoped was inconspicuous manner. He could not remember when he had last been this nervous. Or truth be told, he could. Tracing back from this moment to his escape from Azkaban his life had been one never ending continuum of anxiety, and before that, he had just been plain miserable. But the point was that he was extremely nervous right now. Luckily everyone seemed to be far more interested in talking to their friends or staring expectantly at the stage than they were in a strange fellow in gray rags and a black cloak.

Sirius wove his way through groups of people, who were, on his opinion, strangely clothed even for muggles. Most of them were also at least slightly drunk. He was starting to think that he _might_ even survive the day if none of the muggles recognised him – there was just no way any Auror would be stupid enough to use magic to catch him with a few thousand muggles around, many armed with cameras. He glanced back over his shoulder – and bumped into a blond bloke filling his water bottle from a hose.

"Sorry," Sirius muttered and tried to move past him before he could get a proper look at him.

"Wait just a second," the muggle said in some freak foreign accent and held him back by his shoulder.

_Too late._ Sirius swore to himself and turned to face the muggle, hoping to appear nonchalant while trying to force his heart back down from his throat. At least the muggle did not seem particularly hostile. Despite his impending panic attack Sirius could not help feeling a little amused by the man's appearance. Torn and muddy jeans were combined with a faded band t-shirt that probably had started as black, and over that he wore a leopard-spot patterned vest. His long, fluffy hair had either been styled for hours or the muggle had been struck by a lightning in the yesterday's storm. Sirius was reminded of a hippie that had refused to let the 60s die completely, not least because he for some godforsaken reason had flowers in his hair.

"Jesus, man, what've you done to yourself?" the Hippie asked trying to peer under Sirius' hood for a better look at his bloodied and painfully recognizable face. Apparently his question had been rhetoric since he continued without waiting for an answer: "You gotta be a black, can't think of anyone else who'd do that to themselves."

Sirius' heart stopped. So, the Hippie had recognized him. But wait… What?

"Huh?" was all Sirius managed to spit out. His throat did not seem to function properly.

"Now, don't mean to insult," the Hippie said in a friendly if a tad worried tone. "But you know it's not healthy to starve yourself like that and you have to admit that cutting your own face for show's a bit extreme."

Sirius stared at the Hippie, stunned. Had the muggle lost it completely? Or evidently, he thought that Sirius had.

"You think – no, I tripped and hit my head," Sirius rasped in a voice he could not recognise as his own. "I thought… I mean, what'd do you mean I look like a Black?" Sirius shut his mouth feeling remarkably ungraceful.

"So you're not a black metallist after all, are you?" the Hippie said in his weird English. "I thought that looking like that – well, sorry, my mistake."

Sirius' crippling fear from actually having to speak to another human being when he really should have been running for his life and soul was temporarily overridden by bafflement. In his time he had been to muggle bars pretty frequently and been able to converse with them without much trouble, but he had absolutely no idea what in Merlin's name this one was talking about. It did not help that he kept getting distracted by the muggle's long, forked beard that twitched almost hypnotically as the man spoke.

"Black… metallist?"

The Hippie looked almost as confused as Sirius felt.

"Yeah, you know, music and stuff. How hard did you hit your head? Or have you taken something?" the muggle asked, suddenly eyeing Sirius more carefully.

Sirius beat himself up mentally. Not having any human contact in a dozen years was no bloody excuse to get some random muggle so worried about the state of his health that he would call the muggle healers to check his head. He pulled his mind together and gave a slightly more coherent answer.

"No, no, nothing like that. I've just… been out of touch with things for a while."

"You really ought to get your head checked, you know."

Sirius could not help smiling. "You've no idea how many times I've heard that."

The Hippie smiled back, a weird half-grin that made him look slightly insane.

"So what are you into, then? I could've sworn it was black, 'cause even not counting the blood there's the rest of your looks…"

"What do you mean?"

"It means he buys stereotypes or has been to some hardcore gigs," a new voice said behind Sirius' back.

Sirius wheeled around holding back a startled yelp. The man that had spoken with yet another weird accent apparently was one of the people the Hippie had been talking about, and Sirius had to admit he could understand why he had made the assumption. The new muggle, who was wearing black and spikes from head to toe was sort of skinny as far as never-even-heard-of-Azkaban –type of people went, and long, black locks of hair framed his face that was painted with black and white. It had to be paint; no one would manage to look that much like a corpse on his own...

"A bit of both," the Hippie answered. "What is with you guys and pig heads?"

"Says the guy in a leopard vest," the Corpse retorted.

The Corpse's companion was a sharp-looking young woman, who, judging by her clothes, would have belonged in the same company with the Hippie. Her loose moss green tunic was full of ornamental patches that seemed to indicate that the girl liked to protect stuff – or that she listened to bands called 'Human Rights Watch' and 'Save the Whales'. She was also completely sober, or at least she did not smell of alcohol, and as she looked at Sirius, her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I know you," she said coldly to Sirius, who froze where he was standing. _Damn…_

The Corpse glanced at the Sharp Girl enquiringly. She moved closer to him, her eyes never leaving Sirius.

"You're that escaped convict that's been all over the news," she continued accusingly.

The Corpse's expression changed for the first time Sirius could see, as he raised his eyebrows. The Hippie took a step back staring at Sirius with widened eyes and whispered something in a strange language Sirius had never heard before.

"Vi må ringe polit-" the Sharp Girl started, but Sirius cut her off, not needing to understand to see where this was going. He was desperately trying to come up with something, _anything_, which would make these people ignore his current legal status.

"Look," he said, trying to keep panic in is voice in a bare minimum. "Yeah, so I am kind of on the run now, but it's not like I've done anything to anyone…"

"Oh, really," the Sharp Girl sneered. "And what were you sent to jail for?"

Sirius grimaced. "Well… technically murder…"

For some reason the Corpse seemed to find this amusing, or at least he smiled evilly.

"But I swear I did not do it," Sirius finished, fully aware of how lame his defence had sounded.

The Corpse, still smiling, put his hand on the Sharp Girl's shoulder. The Hippie was far from relaxed now; he looked at Sirius like he expected him to explode at any moment.

"That must have made a kick-ass defence statement in the court," he said tightly.

Sirius could not help snorting.

"What was that supposed to mean?" the Sharp Girl snapped. Something in Sirius' brain was trying to remind him of something, a conversation with some muggle, long ago… Then it clicked.

"I never had any trial," Sirius replied bitterly. He would lie his way out of this if he had to, but unless the half of her patches were purely for show, the truth would do just fine.

"Are we supposed to believe that? That you don't get a court procedure after murdering someone?"

"Several someones. Thirteen to be exact. At one go. Allegedly. And yes, I was sent straight to prison."

She opened her mouth to object, but Sirius continued, looking at all three of them and hoping that either morals or alcohol would stop them from raising a hell. "Go look it up. See, if you find any records of what I've supposedly done. Or where I've been. Or even who I am."

"He does have a point, you know," the Corpse commented, not appearing to be worried in the least.

The Hippie seemed to be thinking it over, before he said slowly:

"Yeah… Don't know what you have or haven't done, but it's pretty obvious you haven't been in any legal prison. Where the fuck did you escape from any way, Auschwitz?"

Sirius had never heard of the place, but shuddered involuntarily, thinking about Azkaban.

The Corpse just shrugged and looked at the Sharp Girl. She was probably trying to make a decision, while absent-mindedly fingering a patch on her left sleeve, a candle wrapped in barbed wire. Then, after forever on Sirius's opinion, she gave a curt nod. The Corpse let go of her shoulder and said to Sirius:

"We won't squeal on you."

Sirius was dumbstruck.

"You… actually believe me?"

"Nah, suppose so. Those two'll keep quiet 'cause of what you look like, and myself… Well, I've got three good friends doing time right now, and you don't look _that_ evil. You have a name?" the Corpse asked out of the blue and offered Sirius a half-full bottle of pale green liquid.

"Sirius Black," he said and drank carefully. He recognised absinthe as soon as it touched his tongue.

"Astaroth," the Corpse replied, accepting back his bottle.

The Sharp Girl grinned impishly, her face finally showing something besides suspicion and disapproval. She nudged the Corpse playfully in the ribs and quipped: "Really? I thought Mother named you Sven."

"Kjeft, Malin!" the Corpse, who apparently chose to call himself Astaroth instead of his given name, snarled.

"Look," Sirius started. He had stayed in one place far too long, and glancing back he saw someone in Auror robes on the hilltop where he had come from. "I really need to go now, that guy and his pals are after me, and I really don't want to go back where I escaped from. Assuming I'll get that far and don't suffer a tragic accident after I've been dragged someplace without witnesses…" Sirius trailed off.

The Corpse looked at the Auror and then said to Sirius:

"Go. I think we'll be able to slow them down."

The Hippie looked inquiringly at the Corpse, who nodded towards the readied stage and the crowd massing in front of it. The smile that spread on the Hippie's face was entirely devoid from peaceful intentions.

Sirius' head was swimming. These people were actually going to help him. He'd been speaking to them for less than two minutes and they were ready to help him. His stammered thanks were interrupted by the Hippie, who took him by his arm and started to pull him towards and through the crowd. Once they were in the middle of it, the Hippie stopped.

"Go towards the toilets, there're plenty of people to give cover. Put your hand over your mouth, it'll clear a path for you," the Hippie said and pushed a plastic bag he had been carrying to Sirius' hands. "Just take it. You need it. Go." Then the Hippie turned around and swiftly started back to where he had come from.

Sirius did not feel like wasting time, so he took the Hippie's advice. Moving as fast as he could, he made his way through the mass of people towards the toilet-area.

_x~x_

Kingsley's heart was pounding. He had actually caught a brief glimpse of Black with some muggles on the fringe of the crowd. This was going to be extremely difficult, all those muggles, who probably had cameras, made using magic nearly impossible. But he had five good people with him, and in roughly five minutes the entire area would be surrounded by magical law enforcement. They would have Black this time, if only he would have the sense to come quietly…

As the Aurors approached the crowd, they reluctantly tucked away their wands to avoid raising suspicion. All of them, however, made sure that they would be able to draw them again in half a millisecond, if necessary.

"A word!" he called to the muggles he had seen talking with Black.

"Yea?" a man with hideously painted face replied.

"The man in a cloak you spoke with a moment ago, did you see where he went?"

The man shrugged not appearing to be very interested.

"I think he had to take care of some business, if you see what I mean." He nodded his head somewhere towards the other end of the festival area where the lavatories where located.

"Is he in trouble?" a girl wearing a patched oversized shirt asked.

"You don't need to worry about anything, we're going to take care of him," Kingsley replied reassuringly. For some reason the girl did not seem to be too happy with the answer.

"What the hell, come along, we'll show where he went." the man with the painted face said and the blonde man that had also spoken with Black nodded. He said something in an alien language to a pair of angry looking teenagers who were staring at the stage in poorly concealed anticipation and gestured Kingsley and his team to follow.

Kingsley nodded to Savage and Proudfoot and sent them to go across the crowd and with the rest of his team he followed the pair of muggles that lead them efficiently towards the other side of the area. He would have much preferred to be able to Apparate, but it could not be helped. Three minutes until the back-up arrived.

They were almost in the middle of the crowd, when a man came on the stage to announce the next band. Right now Kingsley was even less interested in muggle music than he usually was, and what kind of a group would call themselves 'Slayer' anyway. The crowd, however, cheered and roared, and the air seemed to be building up with tension. Every single of his senses screamed warning, but their guides did not seem to care about the change in the atmosphere, and people allowed them to pass without much difficulty. Maybe he was just being paranoid...

The cheers grew louder as men with instruments stepped on stage and started to play. Even the first notes were deafening and as far as Kingsley was concerned, the music lacked all melody. He was caught unaware by the noise for a second. Then one of the muggles that had been leading them bellowed "Pit!" as the music picked up a pace.

Kingsley's only explanation was that the crowd went mad. The cheering people all around them exploded into impenetrable tangle of pushing, jumping and running lunatics. He did not have time to do anything before somebody collided into him, pushing him against a heavyset man, who pushed back. He was not even able to draw a wand, because he was constantly jostled and slammed against sweaty muggle bodies, and could not reach his belt. Against all odds he caught a glimpse of Savage, who had made it further than Kingsley, but was now crushed between the two angry kids they had seen before.

Out of nowhere came the painted man that had efficiently led them to a trap. He was somehow capable of navigating in this mass fight, and was soon face to face with Kingsley. The muggle grinned like a demon from Hell and Kingsley, caught between two huge muggles, could do nothing to defend himself as the painted man grabbed him by shoulders and bashed his forehead against Kingsley's.

The world vanished for a second in a white flash and even the deafening so-called music tuned out. Then he came back to his senses sprawled on the muddy ground, seeing only legs. Several people kicked him probably without even noticing, and Kingsley could not be grateful even to a hairy fellow who heaved him back to his feet before crashing into someone else in the tackling human vortex they were trapped into. He had lost Black. Again. Trying futilely to get pushed out of the mass fight, Kingsley's last nerve wore out and he swore, harshly and colourfully, for the first time in years.

_x~x_

Sirius made his way through the excited crowd as fast as he possibly could. Since the gig had begun no one had spared him half a glance, if it were not one of confusion to see someone flee from the stage. The Hippie's hand-over-the-mouth –trick seemed to suffice as an explanation, though, and it had cleared him a path nicely. He had barely made it out of the way before what looked like a mass brawl broke out and he had actually seen some pair of kids crash into Savage and trip over some younger Auror in the process.

A part of Sirius' brain that was separate from the one that controlled survival instinct wanted to stick around laughing and watch if any of the Aurors would actually be able to reach him. He would not have minded to hear more this music either, he rather liked it. It touched the corner of his soul that really _really_ wanted to drag Wormtail to some secluded place, beat him to an unrecognisable pulp and then work him slowly to nothingness with a rusty cheese grater.

However, Sirius was not nearly stupid enough to think that one group of Aurors was everything he was up against after he had been sighted and nearly cornered, so he took advantage of the fact that the Aurors, for the brief moment it took from them to stand up, could not actually keep their eyes on him. He pushed past the people queuing for the portable and awfully unhygienic-looking toilets and slipped behind them. It seemed that quite a few men had decided not to wait in a line, so Sirius had to move quite deep into the thickening willow bushes that lined a small and murky-watered pond.

He tried very hard not to dwell upon the fact that an innumerable amount of men had probably just relieved themselves where he was walking, and concentrate on not drawing attention to himself as he dove deep into the bushes. At least it was almost impossible to leave a distinguishable footprint in here. He took a careful look around. Most of the people had not bothered to come this deep, and nobody really seemed to give a damn about him. Sirius flattened himself in a muddy hole in the ground, probably dug by a badger, took a deep breath and transformed.

Sirius felt much more at ease as a dog. He checked once more that he had not left any tracks, grabbed the plastic bag in his mouth and stepped into the pond. The water was not very deep, so he did not need to swim, but it was filthy and with each step he sank ankle deep into the disgusting mud that covered the bottom of the pond. He waded across and jumped on land shaking the foul-smelling water off his fur. Then he started to trot briskly away from the valley.

He nearly had a heart attack when he spotted what must have been dozen of Aurors only on this small stretch of land, slowly tightening a noose around the festival area. Sirius had to remind himself that he was only a stray dog, and nearly flat on his belly he slipped past them and fled as fast as he could.

_x~x_

The Aurors Apparated to the target area and quickly formed a circle around the place where Black had been seen. It was possible that Shacklebolt and his team had already caught him, but they would assume nothing until the convict was detained and back behind bars where he belonged. Alastor Moody snapped a harsh retribution to a young Auror, who he knew had a soft spot for all creatures and who had taken interest in a mangy stray that had probably stolen someone's lunch. The boy, only a few years out of Hogwarts, blushed and walked past the dog. It looked so terrified of humans that it probably would have bitten anyone who tried to touch it, anyway.

In less than five minutes the circle of Aurors had closed around the festival area and they could start scrutinizing the crowd itself. Their job would have been a lot easier if not for the hellish racket these muggles seemed to take for music and the fact that about every fifth person had a long, black hair. Moody was not as fast in this kind of work as the younger Aurors, since he moved around supporting himself with his staff, but there was not a person in the force that would have been foolish enough to suggest that Moody should not have been included in this case. He might not have been as agile as those with the luxury of two legs, but his other qualities more than made up to his lack of speed. No one could deny he was still the best they had.

After an extremely trying hour Moody spotted Shacklebolt, who for once did not appear calm and unflustered. He stood little to the right from the entrance to the bar-area, looking positively livid. He had a large lump on his forehead and his robes were dirty and torn.

"Did you find him?" Shacklebolt asked curtly, his foul mood clearly audible.

Moody shook his head.

"Savage saw where he was headed to, but we swept the entire area even the toilets, and he was not there. I have hit teams searching the countryside on thirty mile radius, but at the moment, we've got nothing. And I take that neither have you."

Shacklebolt shook his head.

"I _saw_ him, Mad-Eye. I actually saw him for a while, and so did Savage and Proudfoot."

"And?"

"Then I sent them around the crowd and took the rest of the team with me through it. All went splendidly until _that_ begun." Shacklebolt nodded bitterly towards the stage where the beast of man was roaring something incomprehensible, and the audience still had not gotten tired of the weird mass-fight thing they for some reason seemed to enjoy.

"You were in the middle of _that_? How did you get out of there? Don't tell me you Apparated."

"They stop for a while after each song."

The current song came to an abrupt end and with that, so did the concert. The people cheered and screamed for a while and then they slowly begun to scatter around the area. Most were headed either towards the toilets or the bar district. But Black was not among them. He had slipped away from them, somehow.

"I can't believe we lost him again," Shacklebolt said, regaining his usual composure. "I can't wait to explain this to Scrimegeour and Fudge…"

_x~x_

Sirius had no idea how far he had run since yesterday. He had not dared to stop at all last night, and was now long beyond exhaustion. He made much better time running as a dog, but stopping before he could be sure there was absolutely no one around would have been too risky.

He collapsed finally in a remote forest at the root of a huge spruce. With his last remaining strength he crawled under the lowest branches to the small place between them and the trunk, where he was virtually invisible to passers-by. He might as well sleep here, since he was sure he would not be able to move a muscle in a few hours at least.

Sirius was not sure how long he lay there in an almost catatonic state. When he had recovered from his close call and the resulting mad flight, he realized he still had in his mouth the plastic bag the Hippie had given him. He pulled the simple knot open with his teeth and could not hold back a delighted bark after smelling what was inside.

Wagging his tail madly, Sirius snatched one of the half a dozen squished sandwiches, tore away the wrapper and nearly swallowed whole the first food he could remember eating in three days. He ate another one a bit slower and with enormous will power he was able not to touch the rest of them. He knew he would probably be sick if he ate any more. His tail still wagging happily, Sirius curled around the plastic bag protectively and rested his head against a tree root. He had food. He had _food_. He would get to eat tomorrow, too.

Sirius began to drift off in sleep. He knew he would only be able to get a couple of hours of rest before the nightmares would wake him up, but right now he could not bring himself to care about something he was so used to. Breathing in the intoxicating smell of bread, butter and ham Sirius allowed his consciousness to fade away into blackness.

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**I would like to dedicate this fic to the Nummirock Metal Festival.**

And to all of you stereotypical, starved black metal people from Norway... no offence, guys...

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Please do leave a review.


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